Page 64 of The Accidental Ghost

Killed a woman he stalked for almost a year who’d spurned his advances by strangling her, and got away with it on a technicality.

Died in a car crash while speeding down a canyon road at one hundred and fifty miles per hour in his Maserati, also killing three members of the Furillo family, two children and the patriarch, leaving the mother as the only survivor.

Selma Furillo lost an arm and has second-degree burns on thirty percent of her body after trying to pull her children from the wreckage in an attempt to save their sweet lives.

Frank attempted to step into the light but was firmly denied entry when he was heard bragging about how fast his Maserati could go…

The son-of-a-bitch. What an insidious monster.

Oh, and he was overweight in school. They called him Frank the Tank who likes to wank.

What good does it do me to know his nickname in school?

It’s a serious trigger for this piece of garbage. Use it, the voice demanded.

But wouldn’t she be as insidious as Frank if she taunted him the way he’d been taunted?

But… She hesitated.

Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire, Raphaela. Fight fire with fire!

Frank scooped her back up again, dragging so hard it felt like her arm would rip from her body if she didn’t act.

Whoever’s in charge up there, forgive me for what I’m about to do…

“Hey, Frank the Tank!” she croaked, struggling against his scaly grip, hot and slimy at the same time. “Eat any cheeseburgers lately? Wanna supersize it?”

He stopped again, only this time, he was really angry. Hauling her upward again, he pulled her to him—tight. “How do you know about that?” he roared.

But Ralph smiled, innocent and sweet. “I know everything about you, Frank—you girlfriend killer! How’s your Maserati these days?”

With a scream of pure demonic rage, he lifted her high in the air, her heart pounding in her ears, shaking her so hard that her bones rattled. “Fuuuuuck. Yoouuu!” he screeched, hot flames flying from his mouth. “You stupid, stupid bitch!”

With that, he prepared to lob her through the hole when someone from inside the gaping maw of flames yelled, “Frank, put her down!”

Her heart throbbed. It was Darnell! She’d know that deep, always cheerful voice anywhere.

“Darnell!” she cried, just before Frank dropped her like she was on fire.

Or maybe it was because she was—on fire, that is. Splat right on the floor. She fell hard, her bones jarred, her teeth cracking together.

But suddenly Michael was there, crawling to her, tamping out the flames on her skirt. “I’m sorry, Ms. Tucci,” he managed on a hoarse cry. “I’m sorry!”

“Stay put, Michael!” she ordered—because she was more concerned with another, new demon who was currently creeping up behind Shamus.

Shamus!

He’d come! Shamus had come to get her. How had he gotten inside the light? But she had no time to get sentimental or look for answers.

Nina, Marty and Wanda were also there, springing into action as more demons appeared. Scaly, fiery, horned demons with bulging eyes the size of Frisbees, breathing fire, shooting flames.

“Shamus!” she screamed. “Look out behind you!”

But a demon grabbed him around the neck, wrenching him backward and dragging him toward the hole to Hell.

“Stop!” she shrieked, her throat raw. Forcing herself to her feet, attempting to avoid shooting fireballs, the flames sizzling as they flew past her, Ralph screamed again. “Let him go! I’ll go with you! Make them let Shamus go, Frank!”

Wanda jumped on the demon’s back, twisting his head until he howled in agony, giving it a resounding snap before he fell to the ground in a heap of scaly limbs and broken horns, letting Shamus go.

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